The Eagle and the Tiger's Rise and Fall
Summary: An emperor. A merchant turned slave. An empire that hoards all that it sees. All is entwined into a tale of love and betrayal, knowing no bounds, even in the clutches of death.
A/N: Another idea popped up while I was reading a manga. Plot bunnies were born, and another fic is written.
Far away and long ago, an emperor reigned supreme
A fearsome, little tyrant, he ruled at just 16
"Another horde of slaves have been captured, Your Highness. Among them, six people stand out the most."
A deep hum. Soft shuffles of cloth. An airy sigh. The sloshing of wine inside a glass.
The emperor of the Eagle country, draped on a gaudy throne, lazily lifts his eyes to the high, maroon ceiling.
His chest rises and falls steadily against the simple, silver, silk robe he wears, each intake of air slow and deep as his lips part slightly. Pale is his skin, an alabaster, moonlight glow. His eyes are a bright shade of the silver moon. His hair is as dark as the night. His limbs are lazily sprawled on the golden armrests, showing an eyeful of those lean, smooth legs and that taut, firm chest that leaves nothing to the imagination.
His toes twiddle along with his long, callous fingers, humming to himself, not saying anything at all.
It takes another minute before the guard who kneels before him quickly raises his head to look at the silent emperor.
"Your Highness," he speaks, eyes trying hard not to follow that valley of slender and firm flesh. The guard is new to the ways of the palace. He is too new, but he knows all too well that one should not lay their eyes on the emperor in a lascivious manner. "Shall I fetch you the slaves—"
"Are they pretty?" the emperor suddenly asks, catching the guard unawares. Bored, silver eyes slide sideways, to where the guard kneels. The emperor doesn't turn his head.
The emperor of the Eagle country is known to have a horde of men and women at his beck and call—all of them possessing ethereal beauty as mysterious as the ruler of the country himself. Be it at dawn, morning, night, or dusk, should the emperor command he desires company, then he will be accompanied.
Satisfying the ruler, however, is another matter.
The guard, surprised by the sight of silver eyes turning to him, bows down and shuts his eyes. "Not all of them are enough to meet your standards, Your Highness—"
"Then send them away," he huffs, waving his hand dismissively with refined grace. The emperor's words are cold—as they have always been—his expression remains unflinching as he says his command.
The guard sharply looks up, his face contorted into statuesque shock as he stammers. "B-but Your Highness! Someone among the six is of high quality!"
The emperor blinks, turns his head, and raises one brow. "Oh?"
That one word sparks enough reassurance for the guard, and he quickly stands up and salutes. "Yes, sir!" and he turns to another guard and barks his orders. "Get it here!"
And the emperor's interest is piqued as the loud screaming of the guards trying to quiet down the person that dares to disturb the peace of his palace echoes louder and louder in the halls. His eyelids flutter as he stares at the doors with a bored expression, masking the growing interest behind shining silver eyes.
A rare, high-quality slave is rare to find nowadays, and never has he ever found one worthy of his attention for more than two days.
The emperor's ears perk up as the sound of someone struggling to yell rebounds throughout the halls.
"Kneel down!" the guard shouts, and pushes the stumbling figure to the floor, the struggling heap's body resounding a dull thud on the wood.
The high-quality slave in question, clad in a brown, tattered tunic, staggers to stand up, only to be stepped on the head by a growling spearman.
"I said, 'kneel', you worthless—"
"Stop."
The emperor's chin tilts upwards, his nose and head hold high as he stands up and steps down from his comfortable throne, his small, bare feet pattering on the cold, wooden floor.
Silver eyes are trained on the groaning mass of flesh; he blinks as he peers down on the shivering mess of—
"Look at me," he drawls, nudging his foot on the mass of dirty and messy brown hair.
The figure groans, shivers as his body wracks a violent cough.
And the emperor grimaces, glares at his guards, and sets his knees on the floor, his eyes peering at the miserable creature in front of him.
He grabs at the mop of brown locks and twists them in his fist, brows furrowing as a pained scream rips through chapped lips.
"Let go of me!"
The emperor blinks, and hastily lets go of the screaming boy.
The boy, barely out of his teens judging from his build, spits profanities the moment their eyes meet.
The boy's eyes are a startling shade of blue and green.
"Die, you greedy bastard!" the boy spits out, his eyes showing nothing but pure anger upon seeing the emperor moving away. He kicks and struggles despite the guards resolve on pinning him down, but to no avail. The boy bites the arm of one of the guards, and the boy goes free as he swoops in and slides to the emperor's unfazed stance.
The guards yell out as they try to stop the boy, yet the emperor does nothing but to stand and raise an eyebrow the moment the feisty boy raises his fist against him.
"What is it that you seek so much that you want me dead?" the emperor asks calmly, his expression unchanging even as the fist almost collides with his nose.
The boy halts mid-punch, and his eyes widen at the question, clearly wondering just what the man means.
The boy slowly puts down his raised fist, teal eyes still glaring at that stoic face.
"I want my freedom back," the boy says simply, and the emperor tilts his head and blinks as he crosses his arms and regards the boy with an almost morbid fascination.
Such naïve words are uttered from that foul mouth.
"Well, that cannot do," he shrugs, and turns his back at the gnashing boy, "because everything that I desire, I shall have. And I want this land. This land that you have lived for probably all your life. I have claimed it fair and square. And all the inhabitants of this land are now mine."
"To hell with you!" The boy shrieks and stomps, very much like a petulant child denied of something that he wants, and he grits his teeth as he seethes. "All of my family died in that senseless war! We merchants lost everything because of you! You took our lives just because you think this is a game!"
The emperor hums, tilts his head this way and that, and idly looks at his nails as he lets the boy ramble on.
"A game, you say? Hah." He turns to the fuming boy, and sees nothing but fiery wrath in his eyes. He almost laughs at the sight, and almost smiles at the way the boy tries to rein in his anger.
Letting his emotions run free, with his heart placed on his sleeve—it is the first mistake in a battle.
The emperor eyes the boy, and deeply takes in his appearance. Skin kissed by the sun. An able-bodied male, with indentions etched on the muscles at all the right places. A pair of fiery eyes that smolders anyone who dares blocks his path. A face that rivals the wrath of the heavens itself. A foul mouth that never seems to stop to say what it wants. A brave and impulsive soul that yields to no one.
Ah.
He has found it.
The emperor smirks.
"New blood. Is this the high-quality one you told me of?" Cloudy, silver eyes glance at the quivering guard, and he almost chuckles at the jittery man.
"He's the one, sir!"
The emperor's lips part, and an almost-smile graces his features.
He circles the boy, staring him up and down like a hunter waiting to devour his prey. He crosses one arm on his chest as the other supports his chin, slender fingers tapping his lips as he eyes the dirt that has taken up space on the tanned skin, and grimaces, but says nothing. He looks at those calves, noting the little scars there. He notes his legs, legs that are slightly longer and thicker than his, and sees that he is quite fit. He bites his lip at those clenched fists that are larger than his, notes the way the joints and knuckles protrude, and dares to think what things he could make the boy do with those large hands.
He holds back a smirk and hums at the tunic-clad torso, and frowns upon realizing he cannot see what he wants to see.
He eyes those shoulders, all squared and stiff from suppressed anger, and the emperor nods quite approvingly. The emperor's thumb nestles on his bottom lip as he stares at a slender throat, liking the way his Adam's apple bobs as the boy swallows. He notes the developing chiseled jaw, the nice pair of lips, currently thinned from trying to hold back words. He observes the thin, sharp nose, and stares at those captivating eyes.
A truly, truly enchanting boy.
"How old are you?" the emperor finally asks and licks his lips, inching closer to the boy, and from the corner of his eye, he sees the guards readying for an attack, and silences them with a glare. He returns his sights on him, and for once, he does not mind the apparent height difference as he stands on his tiptoes, trying to gauge more of the boy's façade.
The boy swallows audibly, and the emperor basks in the way that throat moves, and he holds back a groan.
"Sixteen," the boy grits out, brows still furrowed as the ruler moves closer, blatantly ignoring the sense of personal space as he is scrutinized by a pair of sharp eyes. He hears the odd man hum, and dares not to raise his hackles as the tip of his nose bumps to his.
"Boy, do you know where you are?"
"In the castle of the ruler of the Eagle country. Emperor Levi."
The emperor smirks, shows his teeth as he looks at the boy's unwavering glare. He touches his face with his hands, surprised at himself for touching someone that's practically covered in dirt. He leans in to the boy, cocks his head as he speaks.
"Kneel to me."
And the reaction is instant.
A spit to his face. A loud, "Die!"—
—and a sharp kick to the boy's stomach.
The boy coughs, splutters out a curse, and is brought to his knees as the emperor's heel grinds on his scalp. The guards ready their weapons, and the emperor glares at them—they acquiesce, and bow their heads in apology.
He huffs as the boy starts to scream. The more he plants his foot on his skull, the louder his screams become. And he hums, nudges the boy's face with his foot, and is met with a deadly glare. He presses his foot on those boyish cheeks, and almost laughs at his face.
"You're tenacious. Tenacious, but stupid." And he hears a laugh from the wheezing boy, and the emperor raises his brow, "What's so funny?"
"'ve been called by people like that many times. Not really prou' of it, but i' is what I am."
"You are in my abode. Do you really think you can kill me with what little power you have?"
"No, don' think so. But 'd like t' try."
And the ruler's eyebrows rise, and the smallest hint of a smirk paints his face. He removes his foot from him, and the emperor crouches and grips his hair once more.
The emperor's eyes shine as they see that ever-present glare, and he smirks at how easily the boy's head lolls in his grip.
"Get him a room," he orders, and one of the guards pipe up, gulping as he stammers for an answer.
"But the dungeon is already filled with the previous slaves from the—"
"I didn't mean the dungeon."
The three guards look warily at each other, and one of them hesitantly speaks. "But that part of the castle is already occupied with all of your—"
"Move him to the biggest room in the paramour hall."
"But sir, no one has ever resided in th—"
"And that is why I'm ordering you to move him there."
A stern glare quiets down the guards' questions, and the emperor looks at the weakened boy once more.
"What is your name, merchant?"
It takes a few seconds for the question to register in the boy's mind, and when it does, he quietly breathes out. "Eren."
"Eren," the emperor repeats, testing the sound of his name on his lips, and the grip on his hair loosens as he caresses his cheeks once more.
His breath hovers on the boy's lips, and he mouths his words to him.
"Welcome to my kingdom, Courtesan Eren."
He governed over his country with an iron fist
For most of his reign, the people were powerless